


Grow a Garden

by sailec



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailec/pseuds/sailec
Summary: “Alright, sweetcheeks, here’s the thing – there are only two reasons why someone would be as uptight as you’ve been lately,” Isabela says, her golden bracelets clinking as she jabs a finger at Hawke’s chest. “Either you’re not dealing with something you should be dealing with and are under the impression that I’ll put up with you being a cranky arse even during workhours, or you need a hand down your pants. Someone else’s hand, for once. And this time, it’s a double threat. So do us all a favor and go deal with it – now.”Or, 'the Fenhawke florist/tattoo artist AU no one asked for'.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post](http://melancholygirls.tumblr.com/post/98500585558)

Hawke scuffs the toe of his boot against the pavement, shoving his hands into his pockets and squinting up at the sun. Almost noon, the bright blue sky luring even more people than usual out of their homes to visit the various shops in the area. If he stands around a little while longer, trying to melt in among the passersby, lunch break will both have come and gone by the time he’s done admiring the lovely summer weather.

“This is getting ridiculous, Hawke!”

He whirls around to look up at Isabela where she’s walking out onto the small staircase leading up to his tattoo shop, crossing her arms and cocking her hip while she glares at him.

“ _Pants_ , Isabela, what have I told you about them?” Hawke says as an elven mother walking by covers the eyes of her young daughter and hurries past them. “ _Wear them at work hours_.” Cute as it is to see Merrill jump with excitement on hot days like these when Isabela comes in to work barefoot, her usual thigh-high boots at least work as some illusion of modesty.

“Don’t change the subject by trying to pretend we suddenly have some sort of dress code. First of all, _this_ ,” she sticks her leg out in a pose and gestures dramatically at the white tunic barely covering her underwear, “ _is a dress_ – and secondly, for all you know it’s half the reason the customers even come in here to begin with.”

Hawke suspects there might be some truth to that, but, “…I should work on a dress code. That’s how I should spend my lunch.” He starts walking back up the stairs but Isabela straightens up, squaring her shoulders and lifting an eyebrow at him. For someone practically half his size she does a great job at conveying she could, without a doubt, kick his ass if she felt like it.

“Alright, sweetcheeks, here’s the thing – there are only two reasons why someone would be as uptight as you’ve been lately,” she says, her golden bracelets clinking as she jabs a finger at Hawke’s chest. “Either you’re not dealing with something you should be dealing with and are under the impression that I’ll put up with you being a cranky arse even during workhours, or you need a hand down your pants. Someone _else’s_ hand, for once. And this time, it’s a double threat. So do us all a favor and go deal with it – _now_.”

“I’m a grown man, Isabela.” Hawke straightens up and tries to sound authoritative. He is, after all, her boss. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Says the guy who had a banana split for lunch yesterday.”

“…Yes.” It takes quite a lot of strength for his posture not to deflate like a balloon or to pout like a child. “Because, as I said, I am old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Oh for the love of – ... what’s gotten into you? Some pretty boy prancing by has never made you this nervous before!”

Hawke stares, exasperated. Some pretty boy? _Some pretty boy?_ Is that a way to refer to the godlike elven man he’s been watching carrying boxes from a moving truck for the past two weeks? Hawke has barely been able to focus on his own work, mesmerized by the sight from his safe distance by the window; taking in the guy’s long white hair tied in a messy bun at the back of his head and his short but lean body. Most days he’s been dressed in shorts and a low-cut biker tank, displaying the unusual markings on his body, white lines in symmetrical patterns all over his skin. At first glance they appeared to be tattoos, but none like Hawke himself has ever done – or even seen – before, and he can’t figure them out.

He wants to go over there and ask about them.

Then for the guy’s hand in marriage.

Not that he’s going to tell Isabela any of this. Instead he shakes his head.

“I’m not – _nervous_ , I’m just really convinced I shouldn’t do this because it could end badly based on my assumptions and general feelings about this whole situation – ”

“You’re describing being nervous.”

“– _so_ I should get back inside and simply –”

 “ _No_.” Isabela turns around and hurries inside the studio, slamming the door shut before Hawke can react. She grins as the lock turns with a click.

“Isabela.” Hawke levels her with a stare through the glass door. “I have a key. You know, since I own the place and all.”

She winks at him before sticking her tongue out and lifting her hand, jiggling a pair of keys in her grip, the small bloodstone dragon Hawke keeps in his keychain mocking him.

“How did you – ” He pats his pockets, finding them flat. “Hey! Someone let me in.” The rest of his staff seem to become terribly busy all of a sudden as Hawke pulls at the door's handle, Anders practically disappearing behind the desk with how far down he’s leaning over whatever he’s sketching on. Hawke squints his eyes when Merrill puts her headphones on, bobbing her head and mouthing along to the music, looking everywhere but in his direction.

“Look,” Isabela says, voice muted behind the door between them, her eyes trained on where she’s poking through Hawke’s wallet before she snaps it shut and turns her attention back to him. “You’re not getting inside this place until you’ve gone inside _that_ place and gotten inside that guy.”

“That is.” Hawke scratches his beard. “Unlikely to happen all during a first meeting over a lunch break, Bela.”

Isabela’s chest expands with the breath she sucks in, a small content smile playing on her lips for a moment before she blinks herself out of it and lets out a deep sigh. “Why can’t everyone be as ambitious as I am?”

Hawke bites his cheek to hold back his laughter. “Seriously. Let me in.”

“Not until you go over there and get yourself laid!”

“I’m not going to have sex during work hours!” he hisses. “Even if – there _was_ a willing participant.”

“And that’s why you’re the boss and not me.” Isabela clicks her tongue. “Always willing to make the toughest decisions in high-pressure situations. Now run along or I’ll bed him myself.”

She turns to walk away with a wave of her hand, disappearing behind the curtain leading to the room where they keep her piercing section, while everyone else still refuses to acknowledge his presence.

“Varric!” Hawke exclaims when he notices how the writer living in the apartment above their studio is lounging on the red leather sofa in front of their reception desk. “Come and unlock the door so we can go get lunch already.” He quickly became close with Varric after they were first introduced to each other when Hawke bought the place, Varric becoming one of his most cherished friends in no time, the two of them forming the kind of bond you know is for life.

Now Varric looks up to meet his eyes with a smile, and Hawke lets out a relieved breath.

He knew he would come through for him.

 “You heard Rivaini,” Varric calls out and turns his attention back to where he’s scribbling on something in the notebook on his lap. “She’ll get him if you don’t.”

...Well.

Their friendship was nice while it lasted.

Hawke crosses his arms and huffs out a breath, doing his best to patiently glare for a while, but there’s only so much pouting he has patience for when no one is even reacting. Reluctantly, he turns around to glance at the flower shop across the street.

The big white letters above the building are a stark contrast to the chipped away red thing Hawke put up on his own door the day of their opening party – clearly the guy owning the flower shop has a good amount of coin in his pockets. Dates with noodles and home-made braised nug probably isn’t high on his list.

Which is why he doesn’t want to go over there to begin with, because he knows his little crush is simply him being shallow – and Hawke likes it that way. If he starts talking to people he’s interested in he will have to find out if it there’s no chance of things leading to something more, or, perhaps even scarier, if there  _is_.

Hawke lets out a sigh. Maybe Bela is right – maybe he really does need to change things up for once in his life. It’s not like he can blame being single on his job anymore, not the way he used to. Business is doing great, has been for a long time now; there's no need for Hawke to spend _all_  of his time and energy on keeping it running.

He taps his foot and huffs out a breath.

Alright.

Fine.

He _will_ have to move eventually after all, to let the customers in if nothing else. He might as well head over there and have his hopes crushed already and then he can go back to being productive during work hours again. Plus, a part of him does realize Varric is right – and as much as he personally prefers not to view mutual attraction between people as some sort of contest in any way, Isabela has a somewhat different view of it all and will gladly make it into one.

So, without it being a competition, he should go over there first before she wins. Just to be sure.

Hawke looks up at the sky as he starts walking and sends a silent prayer to the Maker for this to be quick and painless so he can forget about it all when Isabela buys him post being-turned-down tequila after work and he apologizes at great length for trying to restrict her free soul (and thighs) by demanding she wears pants.

As he reaches the doors of the boutique he catches his reflection in the windows and tries not to pull a face; not that he dislikes his looks, but his beard could have done with a trimming over a week ago, and perhaps he’s been keeping a little _too_ busy with work the past summers if the pale shade to his skin is anything to go by. Nothing to be done about any of that right now though, so he settles for swiping a quick hand through his bangs before walking inside.

A welcoming bell dings above him, and Hawke lifts his eyebrows in a _huh_ , impressed. They should get one of those. To know when Merrill sneaks out on snack breaks at the corner store if nothing else.

The place isn’t too big, but the all-white interior opens up the space, and every inch of the room is utilized creatively, shelves stuffed to the brim with all kinds of flowers, colourful herbs and beautiful bouquets. Hawke finds himself staring in awe. Even he, who enjoys flowers and has tattooed every kind he could have imagined before entering this weird indoor field of exotic finesse, wouldn’t be able to name all of the ones in here.

As beautiful as it is, there doesn’t seem to be a rush of customers, the place devoid of people save for two elderly women standing next to a bunch of blue flowers, one of them holding them up for the other to sniff at before she gives out a loud sneeze. Hawke turns towards the front desk where a small box with different seeds for common herbs to plant at home is placed, and he walks over to pick up one of the small packages. He's just started to read the instructions for how to properly grow Embrium in your windowsill when a head pops up behind the desk.

 “Welcome!”

Hawke yelps and jumps, managing to sweep down the whole box of seeds in front of him.

“My – apologies, I did not intend to frighten – ”

“Maker, I am _so_ sorry – ” Hawke’s pulse tries to find footing as he bends down to gather up the packages as quickly as he can, putting it all back in the box and straightening up to place it on the desk, looking up to apologize again, but the words get stuck in his throat. He tries not to choke.

“Really, you don’t have to – ” Dirty hands reach out before stopping mid-air and the man of Hawke’s dreams pulls them back, holding them up as he seems to realize the state they're in, with the most beautiful grin on his face Hawke has ever seen. “Sorry, I was trying to plant some – ” The guy points vaguely to his left before ripping off a piece of paper from under the desk to wipe his hands on, tossing it into a paper bin once he’s done, and finally takes the box from Hawke’s grip, putting it back on the desk. “You know what, nevermind. Either way it was my fault, please do not feel as though you should apologize. And again; welcome.”

His deep voice is wildly unexpected coming from such a small man and Hawke only remembers to blink when his eyeballs start to hurt. It might be rude to stare, but it’s hard to look away from the sight in front of him. Big green eyes and black eyebrows in stark contrast to the white hair, and those matching markings – which are even more curious up close, Hawke’s eyes falling below they guy's lips where it’s branching down his neck. He’s never seen such a vibrant white on anyone before, reflective as sunlight hitting newly-fallen snow on his dark skin.

The man’s smile falters slightly, brows drawing into concern, and Hawke realizes he hasn’t answered his greeting.

“Right, well, uh, hi. Hello.”

…Not the smoothest introduction he's given.

“Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Flirting. He knows how to do that. “I don’t know,” Hawke says. “Is there?”

“Depends on – what you’re looking for…?”

Hawke can’t tell whether it’s amusement, confusion, or judgement in his voice, but his knees get weak either way. He takes a step closer – moving his hand away from the desk when he catches the guy eyeing the box of seeds wearily – and leans in, just a little, to give him a smile. “What do you offer?”

Alright, way too suggestive if you’re not speaking to the Madam at the Blooming Rose, Hawke thinks, mentally kicking himself. Tone it _down_ , man.

“Well, we have a wide variety of plants right here in the shop, for numerous of occasions – we do everything from personalized bouquets to arrangements for weddings, banquets – anything you need. If you want something you can’t find in here just place a special order for it and I’m certain we shall be able to fix it for you in no time.”

Hawke laughs, both relieved and amused over the fact that if he was coming on too strong, his flirting attempt flew right over his head. “Was this a flower shop or the drug dealer down the street?”

“I’ve never been more relieved we didn’t pick that particular sentence as the secret code for those who are looking for our secret drug shop downstairs,” the guy says and points his pen at Hawke.

“So there _is_ a secret drug shop downstairs?”

“I cannot discuss that.”

“Hm. So no drugs, then?”

“You will have to take it up with your friend down the street. And settle for plants you probably shouldn’t smoke if you’re buying anything from us, I'm afraid.”

Hawke smiles. “I think I’ll manage. There are… some very eye-catching stuff in here.”

“For what it's worth, I did tell my assistant placing those awful greeting cards right at the front desk was a bad idea.”

Despite the guy’s quick wit being adorable, Hawke can’t help but to shift his weight – is he being oblivious? Or is he purposely ignoring Hawke’s advances? Is he, the horror, _straight_?

“Assistant, you say?” Hawke says, because there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in here working. “I take it you’re the owner, then?”

“The sentence is sure yet you sound doubtful.”

“No, I just thought, you – I mean. You don’t look that old.”

That earns him a chuckle. “I assure you I can handle myself and my business just fine.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hawke murmurs. “I’m Hawke, by the way.” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “I own the place across the street.”

“Ah, the tattoo shop, is it not?” He reaches his hand over the counter, offering it for Hawke to shake. “My name is Fenris. I haven’t had much time to walk around yet. Have you been here long, then?”

“Five years next month since I bought it.”

“So you’re the owner of a business too?”

“...Yes?”

“Surely we cannot be too far apart in age.”

“Hah, got me there,” Hawke says, “but this is…” modern, fantastic, he’s jealous and a bit weirdly turned on by the indication of how business oriented and successful Fenris must be, “…a really nice place.”

“Now I must visit yours.”

“You should. It’s crammed and old and awful, so naturally absolutely amazing.” Hawke grins. “I’d offer a tattoo free of charge as a welcome gift, but – perhaps you’re not looking for something breaking the symmetry.”

Fenris looks down at himself and scratches his neck, the softness to his dry voice gone. “I think I’m done with that, thanks.” Whatever edge to his voice disappears as quick as it came and he meets Hawke’s eyes again and smiles. “Although I do notice you don’t appear to have many tattoos yourself.”

“Where you can see, you mean.” Hawke winks, although the only tattoo he has that could be considered even remotely interestingly placed is a small knife low on his hip, the result of Isabela winning a bet to give him one wherever she pleases.

“Ah,” Fenris coughs, “aha. Well. So. Right. Well. What, uh – what was it you were looking for today, you said? Something for your shop? Or something with a message – confessing love, an apology?” He isn’t blushing, though he can’t seem to meet Hawke’s eyes, fiddling with the pen in his hand – is he deflecting from being flustered or is he changing the subject from being uncomfortable? Damn, the guy is hard to read.

Hawke wants to have his children.

“What would you want from your special someone?”

“I do not have a special someone.”

Hawke tries not to whoop at that. He’s gone a little too quickly from refusing to walk inside to wishing Fenris would actually want to go on a date with him – but he likes him already, he’s funny and doesn’t appear to think Hawke is a total weirdo, which is no small win given his usual track record around people.

“From a secret admirer then?”

“All out of those too, I’m afraid.”

“Wouldn’t the point of a _secret_ admirer being you not knowing?”

Fenris chuckles again, a small sound almost closer to a giggle. “Regardless, I’m certain I am the one buying flowers in any romantic scenario.”

Oh. Damn it all. Straight and old-fashioned? One last attempt to clear this all up, Hawke thinks, before lunchbreak is over and he runs out of his last bit of courage; better make it as forward as a punch to the face – duck or accept, either way you’re not missing where he’s swinging.

“Actually, to tell you the truth – lovely as it is in here, I didn’t stop by for flowers today. Since I’ve abandoned my coworkers to fend for themselves and we’ve established you have no secret admirer coming to pick you up, I was heading out for lunch at the sushi place down the street. Would you like to accompany me?”

“I cannot think of anything I’d want less.” Fenris pulls a disgusted face, sounding offended at the very suggestion.

A blush is not something that happens easily to him, but Hawke feels pretty certain his face is glowing redder than the scar across his nose. Well – he did want a clear answer. At least he got it.

Hawke jumps as blue flowers slam down on the counter next to him, a loud sneezing interrupting his train of thoughts before he can open his mouth to fire off the quickest response possible to get him out of here.

“Oh! Didn’t see you there, young man.” One of the ladies Hawke noticed earlier looks at him and adjusts her glasses, tall as a tree Hawke is _really_ not used to being overlooked – this day is getting increasingly more surreal. Although right now he wouldn't mind if someone would bless him with the ability to disappear. “Sorry, love, did we skip the line?”

“No, no! I was just leaving. I’ll – just –”

“But – ” Fenris starts, dark eyebrows drawing low, and after being so brutally turned down Hawke would think his heart would ease up on the need to sigh longingly over Fenris's look of concern.

“Maybe I’ll buy flowers here some other time, yeah?” Hawke cuts him off, making finger-guns and clicking his tongue before whirling around and hurrying out of the shop as fast as possible without taking off in a sprint.

Oh, maker – how does he always find ways to make it _worse_?

 

* * *

 

“Nope,” Isabela says once he’s walked back inside the studio through the newly unlocked door to relay the news. “There’s no way that guy’s not into dudes in some capacity. He has to be at least a little man-curious.”

“That’s not a word,” Hawke mumbles from where he’s miserably hiding his face behind his palms. “And even if so, maybe he’s just not into me, then.”

“…Right.” She goes quiet long enough for him to get curious and emerge from his hand-prison, looking at the spot where she stood ten seconds ago which is now empty. Hawke turns around just in time to see the door click shut, gasping and running up to it, hand closing around the handle – but there’s no point in even opening, as Isabela’s already half-way across the street.

“Isabela, nono _no_  – _what are you doing_?” Hawke hisses to himself as he watches, horrified, Isabela walking towards the flower shop, fluffing up her long dark hair as she goes. If he wasn’t so set on never meeting Fenris ever again he would run after her and physically carry her back if he had to. Even with the possibility of it ending with her beating him up. As it is, all he can do is continue to stare and wait for things to unfold, hoping for a miracle to occur in which Isabela decides maybe, just this once, she will _not_ humiliate her friends further. He turns around to see both Merrill and Anders coming up to join him by the windows. “Don’t both of you have customers?”

“We don’t mind.”

Hawke startles as he notices both Sera and Dagna, here for another set of matching tattoos, standing next to them, peeking curiously at what’s happening outside.

“This stuff’s exciting, yeah?” Sera takes an apple from the fruit bowl on their front desk and tosses it in the air before taking a bite.

None of them seem bothered in the least by the intensity of Hawke’s glare.

He huffs out a breath and goes back to staring out the window, biting on this thumbnail and listening to the crunch of Sera chewing on her apple for the next few minutes.

“Someone. Someone go do something.” Hawke breaks the silence when nothing seems to be happening, no one leaving or entering the flower shop, and the sunlight reflecting on its windows making it impossible to tell what’s going on inside of it. He doesn’t know what he’s most worried about – Isabela making an even worse fool out of him, or the thought of her currently dragging off with Fenris to hook up in her car.

“You go do something,” Anders mumbles around the hairtie between his teeth while he gathers up his long hair in a ponytail.

“Only way this could get worse – and trust me, it’s hard – is if I showed up in there again.”

“You usually have no problem with humiliation,” Varric chimes in from his spot on the couch. “A good old friend of yours, I’d say.”

“We get along nicely as long as I don’t _care_ ,” Hawke says, regretting his words as soon as the loud collective _aww_ fill the room, Merrill putting her hands to her cheeks and cooing. “Shut up, all of you.”

Anders laughs as Sera starts making kissing noises until Dagna waves her hand to shush them. “Look!”

Everyone turns back just in time to see Isabela coming up the stairs, her eyebrows drawn low and fists clenched.

“Well,” she says as she walks into the studio again, looking greatly offended, “there’s something wrong with him if he's into ladies.”

“Haven’t we had this discussion before?” Anders says. “Just because someone doesn’t want to see you naked doesn’t mean there has to be anything wrong with them.”

“Anyone who wants to claim there’s nothing wrong with Hawke is deluded.” Isabela bites back. “No offense, big guy.”

“None taken,” Hawke says and can’t help but to smile, because everyone remembers Isabela’s face full of _what the fuck_ when he first turned down her advances during the night of their opening party – though given he’d flirted with her as freely as any other person he encounters, he can hardly blame her.

“Perhaps he’s a double-a,” Varric says from the couch, not even bothering to look up from the tattoo magazine in his lap. Why he insists on skimming through them is beyond Hawke, since all these years into business and the guy still refuses to get another tattoo, or even let Hawke have the old faded crossbow he has on his chest touched up.

“A what now?” Anders says.

“Like me,” Merrill says and cups her breasts.

Isabela tsks. “Doubt he was referring to bra size, kitten.”

“Maker.” Hawke pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Not into sex, not into romantic drivel.” Varric takes off his glasses and waves them at the gathered party by the window. “Happy on his own. Aro-ace. Double-a. It happens, you know.”

“Ah. Like you.” Hawke squints his eyes but Varric just gives him another look as he slides his glasses back on and pushes them up his nose, seeming more amused than anything else. Damn it all. Close as they are, Varric’s secretive like no one else Hawke knows when it comes to his love life – or lack of thereof, whichever it is.

“Oh, stop the pouting, all of you,” Anders says and straightens up. “What were you hoping to accomplish by having a woman flirt with him if we’re trying to figure out if he’s open to a man’s advances?”

“It doesn’t matter either way because he said he’s entirely repulsed by thought of even going near me – ”

“He did not say that.”

“Not in as many words,” Hawke mutters. “Oh – come on!” he says when they all stare at him, Isabela’s judgmental eyebrows reaching new levels of impressive. “We can’t make fun of Isabela for assuming everyone is into her and then make it sound like people can’t _not_ be into me!”

“Even if they didn’t want to sleep with her I don’t think there’s ever been a single person on this earth who has been, as you said, ‘entirely repulsed’ by Isabela,” Anders says.

“Aveline,” Isabela and Varric say in unison.

“Unable to handle jealousy of your beauty does not count.”

“Aww,” Isabela cracks a wide smile and Anders swats at her hand when she tries to pinch his cheek, “listen to you, being all nice to me!”

_“Anyway_ ,” Anders continues and grabs Isabela’s wrists to hold her away so she can’t reach him, “as I was saying, sitting here speculating still won’t get us anywhere. Sera – do you mind if I go give it a try?”

“Now, now,” Hawke cuts in, “everyone needs to take a moment to – ”

“Not one bit.” Sera sits down on the table in front of the couch and crosses her legs, mouth still full of apple, and Isabela willfully steps back when Anders releases her. “Like ‘m gonna turn down watching all you idiots run around making fools of yerselves.”

“They can’t all be lucky in love like us,” Dagna says and gets a wide grin and a wink back.

“I’m downsizing!” Hawke calls after Anders, but the only reply he gets is the door closing behind him as he leaves.

All of them gather by the windows once more to watch, but Anders has barely entered the shop before the doors fly open again and he comes storming back across the road, Hawke raising his eyebrows in concern.

“What,” Anders says between clenched teeth once he’s back in the shop again, his cheeks red and ponytail askew, “in the ever-loving  _void_ do you see in that guy? He should not be allowed to work in customer service!”

“What the – ? You weren’t even gone five minutes!”

“And I advise you to forget all about him.”

“Anders just wants you all to himself.” Isabela tuts and Anders is too busy with being upset to duck this time around when she goes in for the cheek-pinch, squeaking in surprise before scuffing the back of Isabela’s head in rebuttal. She quickly dodges down to poke the sides of his waist, Anders trying to squirm away from her fingers. Hawke tilts his head, things just starting to get interesting when Isabela tackles Anders to the ground.

“Oh lemme give it a go!”

Hawke glances away from heap of his wrestling employees on the floor to see Sera getting up from her seat on the table.

“ _No_ ,” he says. “Sera – no. We are all done with this whole thing now and – ”

Dagna snorts. “Sera, leave it alone.”

“Thank you, Dagna. I –”

“You just wanna make fun of everyone,” she cuts him off. “Since you still have a tattoo to finish before it’s my turn, _I_ will go.”

“Now _wait_ a minute, when did this turn into – …Wait.” Hawke drops his hands and spins around, scanning the shop. “Where – where is Merrill?”

Anders and Isabela stop where they’re still tumbling around on the floor, looking around. “She was here just now,” Anders says and gets to his feet, offering a hand to help Isabela up. “Stood right next to us.”

Isabela walks over to the window. “Oh, there she goes, little kitten.”

Hawke’s eyes budge in horror as he looks where Isabela’s pointing to see Merrill walking through the doors to the flower shop.

“ _Noooooo_.” Hawke drags his hands down his cheeks, tugging at his beard and hissing, “This is why we need a bell above the door!”

He holds his breath for what feels like forever, but can’t have been any longer than Isabela’s adventure, until Merrill finally emerges again, skipping back with a smile on her face. Which doesn’t really tell him much at all since she would be doing the same if she was on her way to inform Hawke they’re being forced to shut down and his dog has died and also, oh, she’s having a fall wedding with Hawke’s baby brother.

“Merrill – ” Hawke starts, but she just waves him off as she comes back, seeming unaffected by the hoard of people looking at her expectantly.

“No need to worry, Hawke.” She smiles as if she hasn’t most definitely just ruined his life and made it impossible for him to ever show his face on the street where he works again. “I solved it for you.”

Hawke stares in horror. “Merrill. What, exactly, did you do?”

“He really is quite adorable, Hawke, you two’ll make a lovely couple. A bit cross, but – ”

“ _Merrill!_ ”

“Alright, alright, calm yourself, he’s as bi as a bug in the summer,” she says and brushes off a piece of lint from her skirt.

“He is?” Isabela says happily.

“But if Hawke wants a date with him he has to go over there and ask him out himself. Seemed rather amused by it all. First smile I got from him, when I told him you fancy him.”

Hawke does the only sensible thing for a man in his position and flops face down on the floor, making pained noises into the rug.

“That’s filthy.” Isabela’s toe pokes him in the shoulder, Hawke catching a flash of purple nailpolish from the corner of his eye. “Up you go.”

He turns his head and glares at her. “If it’s dirty it’s because the person I pay to clean up ignores her duties.”

She shrugs and smiles. “Oops?”

Hawke hears the door open but can’t muster up the energy to move. “Lunch break,” he mutters.

“Booking’s not until Tuesday next week if you’re here for a tattoo,” Isabela says, sounding much more professional. “We have drop-ins for smaller things on Thursdays.”

Hawke glances over his shoulder to see the huge Qunari who’s standing there nod and slowly back away with a nervous glance at him where he's lying on the floor. Something tells Hawke they’re not coming back, whatever the reason for their visit was. He’ll have to ask Sera if she wants another flower on her foot to make up for the lost customer.

“Oh, Hawke, there’s no need for all of this, you should be thanking me! I told you he seemed rather pleased about it all.”

“I’ve _already asked him out_. And he almost threw up. He probably just wants another chance to laugh at me. Perhaps they have a surveillance camera and he’ll post it online and it’ll go viral.”

“Darling,” Isabela starts, “you don’t think you’re overreacting? Just – a little bit?”

“Maybe they’ll send it to that show,” Merrill says, “the one with the funny clips, with the Arishok fellow?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Anders mutters.

“C’mon now, Hawke, you’ve done far worse things than this and lived,” Isabela reminds him.

“I think it’s sweet,” Merrill says. “He’s all nervous.”

“Varric!” Isabela calls out. “You’ve just been sitting there all quiet, talk some sense into him.”

“I’m busy writing all of this down.”

“Alright.” Hawke pulls himself up from his pit of misery. And dust, and dirt, and cat hair, judging by the spots on his shirt. Damn it. He’s told Anders he’s only allowed to bring the cats to work if he makes sure they don’t make a mess. “I’m – going to go get this over with. See if there’s a way to apologize for the way you've all been behaving.”

“Wait,” Merrill says and hurries up to him. “It might add to the whole rugged lumberjack look you have going on but we should probably clean you up a bit.” She brushes some dust off of his shoulder. “There we go.”

“But maybe also – …” Anders reaches out to tug something out of Hawke’s beard. “There. As good as new.”

“Ap-ap, just – ” Isabela pulls a tuff of fur from his hair. “ _Now_ you can leave.”

“You.” Hawke snaps his fingers and points at Isabela. “Vacuum the floors. Anders, comb the cats.” He looks at Sera and Dagna. “Or get back to work first perhaps.” Thank the maker for loyal customers. Maybe he can convince Sera to get two flowers. A matching set for Dagna.

“Yes, serah, yes – you can count on us, boss,” Merrill says and salutes before she starts physically pushing him out the door as the rest of them all laugh while Hawke rolls his eyes.

It's a good thing they're all cute.

 

* * *

 

Fenris is standing at the same spot Hawke left him in when he enters, resting his chin on his hand and looking at him.

“So,” Hawke says and stuffs his hands into his pockets as he walks closer. “I, uh. See my colleagues took it upon themselves to make introductions.”

“A rather interesting bunch.” There’s a smile to Fenris’s lips, but it doesn’t seem mocking in the least. In fact, he almost looks – shy? Bashful? “At least I don’t have to wonder what you were all looking at.”

“What?”

“You can see right in from here.” Fenris nods at the door and Hawke looks over his shoulder to see his own building, the windows on their side covered in shadow, no sun to reflect the view from here.

Oh maker. “I – ” Hawke tries to ignore how red he once again feels his face get. “Well, what can I say? I keep interesting company.”

“I should say so.” Fenris lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “Be that as it may, I might be more intrigued by the company _they_ keep.”

Hawke grins at that, a nervous swoop in his stomach, Fenris actually – seems interested? “You’re not scared off easily I take it.”

“I enjoy a man who can stare presumed humiliation in its eyes and completely shrug it off.”

“Then we might as well head straight for the Chantry and get married because you’ve found your golden goose.”

Fenris laughs. “You, ah – that elven woman – Merrill, was it? She said you had something to ask…?”

His tone is still teasing but Hawke can't help but to feel a little defensive, still wondering how the pieces all fit. “If that was you trying to convey you were open to my advances earlier, forgive me for saying so but maker, you’re bad at it. Hard to get is one thing, but I usually don’t come back for round two of total rejection.”

“Oh, no, you, uh, you rushed out too quickly, I meant – ” Fenris seems to try to find the right words, scratching the back of his head, not meeting Hawke's eyes. “I just. Really don’t like fish.”

“…What?”

Fenris shrugs, his turn to look defensive now as he mumbles, “You asked if we could go get sushi.”

Hawke can only stare in disbelief, Fenris looking at him as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s... vegetarian sushi.”

“Disgusting nonetheless,” Fenris says and frowns.

Hawke can't help it, bursts out laughing while shaking his head. “And –… the flowers? What’s with that, some deep-seated masculine complex?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said earlier – ? You would be the one to buy flowers. I thought you meant, like... because you're the guy or something.”

“I – ” Fenris chuckles. “I was referring to the fact that I – work _here_.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never had anyone buy me flowers.” Fenris looks away yet again, busying himself with drawing invisible figures on the desk with his fingertip, the inability to meet his eyes when he's flustered something Hawke already finds endearing. “I don’t know what I’d like.”

“Well... maybe, hypothetically,” Hawke starts, pulse racing in anticipation but somehow he manages to keep himself talking, “I could take you on a date, sneakily find out when you're not working, and then I can go in and buy flowers when you're not around, so I’m still supporting you and your business _and_ surprising you, all in one go.”

Fenris bites his bottom lip around a grin. “I have to say, the best thing would be how I wouldn't suspect a thing.”

“Right?"

“Well, Hawke, hypothetically, I would love that. And I am… free tonight. Should you want to do something with that information.”

“Perhaps I can show you the town?" Hawke says, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but he's still sort of bracing himself for Fenris to turn him down. “You did say you haven't had much time to walk around, and if I may say so, I am a bit of an expert on all things Kirkwall. I know every shady corner. To avoid, I mean. That – sounded much better in my head.”

“A night of avoiding shady corners sounds perfect.” Fenris laughs at him – he _really_ needs to stop making Hawke blush – before he glances at the clock on the wall. “I will be done here around seven tonight – why don't we meet outside?”

“It’s a date.” Hawke bites his lip to stop another foolish grin breaking out on his face, but at least Fenris is pretty much matching his expression.

“It's a date,” Fenris repeats and Hawke nods, slowly starting to back away to head back to his own shop.

“But just to be clear,” he says and stops, squinting his eyes, “so there's absolutely no confusion here, this is like – it's a _date-_ date?”

“Yes,” Fenris laughs, “it's a date.”

“...A date-date,” Hawke repeats, looking at Fenris for proper confirmation.

“ _Yes_ , it's a  _date-_ date.”

“Great.” Hawke grins, finally allowing himself to fully let it sink in that this is happening. “I'll just – see you tonight then, Fenris.”

“See you tonight, Hawke,” Fenris says, seeming as reluctant to let him walk away as Hawke is to leave, but Hawke finally manages to turn around to head towards the doors. “Hawke!”

“Yeah?” he turns back to the front desk and lifts an eyebrow.

“Just – um. If we're having dinner, maybe. Don't pick a restaurant near the docks?”

Hawke laughs and nods. “No restaurants with seafood as their specialty. Got it.”

“Perfect,” Fenris says and with one last smile Hawke finally leaves, the bell dinging once more above him in tune with his heart skipping a beat – because tonight, he has a date.

It doesn't even matter that Isabela will never let him live this down.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last year, all those months ago when it was AU fenhawke week, but then I just sorta left it lying around half-finished because I'm too nervous about letting other people read my stuff. But I'm really trying to work on that this year and I figured, well, maybe it'll make someone happy, who knows? Thanks for reading if you got this far. <3


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